


When There's A Will, There's A Way

by SapphyreLily



Series: Sunlight Through A Glass Window [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Arabian AU, Gen, M/M, dancer!oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7484742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Week Day 1 - Red (Passion/Determination)</p>
<p>Oikawa throws himself fully into his work, no matter what type of work it is. Dancing? Easy. Assassination? Easy. Overthrowing the sultan? Not as easy, but he'll get it done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When There's A Will, There's A Way

**Author's Note:**

> The kick off to Oikawa Week! Yay!

The dancer's sash trailed behind him, little ripples trembling through the fabric as the larger swath of material followed the person it was attached to. The sash was a sheer peach, the gauzy cloth translucent.

The dancer himself was clad in a short top and baggy pants; his feet were bare, his face veiled with the same material his sash was made of. The veil lifted every time he spun, allowing for the barest glimpse of the lovely face underneath.

Beside him, the sultan hummed appreciatively. “This one has great potential.”

“It is as you say, Your Royalness.”

The quip was made by the newest in the sultan’s harem, a lithe strawberry blond with a fondness for tiny European pastries and bad jokes. No-one, least of all the captain of the guard, understood why he had been chosen. But unless one wanted their head detached from their body, it was wise not to comment.

The strawberry blond seemed unusually determined to be beheaded, but the sultan simply chuckled.

“You have an eye for detail. Tell me what you see.”

Iwaizumi swore he saw a twitch of the concubine's eye before his expression smoothed out.

“Of course, Highness. He's graceful, flexible and athletic. Well-built but lean, and not bad to look at either. Very good at his job. He'd make a great assassin.”

Iwaizumi nodded along. He had suspected that the dancer was an assassin. It was nice to know someone shared the sentiment, even if it _was_ a jealous concubine.

The sultan rubbed his chin. “Well thought out. Let us see if your suspicions are true.”

As if on cue, the dancer skipped closer, his twirls and leaps growing more dramatic. Iwaizumi was entranced by his movements, even as he watched for the gleam of a dagger, the hilt of a knife.

The dancer spun away, sash billowing around him as he lifted his hands skyward. His elbows bent towards his back, arms crossed as if to throw a man over his head.

Or draw swords strapped across his back.

Iwaizumi’s scimitar slid from his scabbard, shooting out in front of the sultan. Two sharpened pins ricocheted off the metal, clinking loudly before falling to the tile. The dancer's torso was lowered, his arms fanned out at his sides in a dramatic bow.

The palace guard had him surrounded immediately, on his knees before the sultan. Iwaizumi waved off the scimitar placed at the man’s neck, instead lifting his veil and presenting his bare face to his ruler. Around them, the courtiers and nobles tittered excitedly. It was not unusual to see an assassination as such, but that had been the most beautiful one by far.

Ushijima leaned forward, his face impassive. “Your name.”

The dancer swore at him.

One raised eyebrow from the sultan, and he received a foot to his stomach. The man spluttered and coughed, while the rest of the guard watched uninterestedly.

“Your name.”

“I will never tell you.”

The venom in the man’s voice matched the hatred burning in his eyes. Iwaizumi quietly mused to himself on why that was so. Ushijima was not a bad ruler. He had some tough laws, true, but he didn’t think that imposing a curfew for the safety of the people was that awful. Maybe this man thought Ushijima had personally insulted what was his.

“You deported my entire family.”

Oh, well, there it was. How predictable.

Ushijima stared at the man a while longer. “Oikawa. That is your name.”

“So you remember me. I will make you pay for your actions.”

Ushijima continued as if he didn’t hear him. “A first daughter, dying from the sand in her lungs. Patriarch is crippled, a hand and foot lost to the coyotes. A grandson dying of consumption.” He looked at the man, who was still seething. “I had them sent to Japan. They will be well cared for, and will have enough to start and carry on a business. Why did you not follow them? You are their only son.”

“You uprooted them from everything they loved!” The man hissed. “They were _happy_ here, even though they were sick.”

Ushijima regarded him patiently. “I gave them a chance to be happy _and_ healthy. There was enough for you to follow them as well.”

“The crew on the ship–“

“Is my personal crew. They are loyal to me, and will answer to no other.” The sultan countered. “You must miss your family. If you wish it, I will arrange for you to join them when the next ship leaves.”

The man's lips pinched into a tight line. It was clear that he was considering the offer, despite his hatred of the sultan. “What about payment?”

Ushijima looked thoughtful. “Iwaizumi.”

“Majesty.”

“How many were lost outside the gates past sundown this month?”

“Two squads. We are a little short-handed,” he admitted.

The sultan nodded, turning back to the dancer. “Oikawa. Your payment is this: you will join my guard and patrol the city until the time of your departure. Your service will be your payment.”

Oikawa’s lips pulled up into a sneer. “That is very generous of you.”

Ushijima nodded, seemingly unaware of his sarcastic tone. “I do not ask for unreasonable prices. What you can give, I will take. Now, tell me, who trained you?”

Oikawa’s smirk remained in place. “I work alone.”

“Is that right.” The sultan said, his face blank. “Perhaps, then, you are entirely unrelated to the cook who allowed you into the palace these past weeks?”

A tall, dark-haired man was pushed out from an alcove behind the sultan, a trail of blood dripping from his temple. His face was swollen, his nose crooked, his hooded eyes almost sealed shut with purple.

Oikawa’s eyes fixed on the man, widening imperceptibly, but his voice remained steady. “Never seen him before.”

Ushijima looked at him steadily. “I see. Iwaizumi, the honour is yours.”

Iwaizumi sheathed his scimitar and bowed, approaching the man. He stopped in front of him, angling himself slightly so that the dancer could see exactly what he was doing.

He brought his hands up to cradle the man’s head gently, almost tenderly, pulling him down until they were face to face. He exhaled, a soft puff of breath that made the man flinch right before the muscles in his hands tensed–

“No! Enough!”

The dancer tore his hands from the guards' grips, throwing himself at the sultan’s feet. “Spare him. He is innocent.”

A muscle in Ushijima's face twitched; the only indication of his amusement. “Tell me the names of your masters.”

“I have no master.” Oikawa replied, raising his head to meet the sultan’s gaze. Gasps echoed around the courtyard. No one, not even the guards, could look the ruler in the eye unless he permitted them to. If he wasn’t before, now he was definitely bound for execution.

The sultan only chuckled. “No? It does not seem right, that you received your training with no compensation to your trainer. Nor does it seem like you bear a brand. Shall I have my men check?”

Oikawa batted away the guards’ reaching hands with a hiss, then turned to snarl at Ushijima. “They will kill me themselves if I speak. But I do not serve them. I serve _no one_.”

“No? What about your loyalty to my cook, then?”

Oikawa remained silent.

Ushijima laughed. “You say you serve no one, but it is clear who your heart serves. Very well. I am feeling generous today. He will be let off with no further punishment. As for you, my offer still stands. Join my army until it is time for you to return to your family, if you so wish.”

Oikawa’s eyes remained on the ground. His voice was tight with anger when he answered. “I accept.”

“Excellent.” The sultan sat back in his chair, regarding the nobility still gaping at him. He snapped his fingers, and they all flinched. “Dismissed. This session is over.”

The courtiers and nobles in the courtyard scattered, leaving the guards to hoist Oikawa to his feet. Iwaizumi re-joined them, taking a firm grip on the former dancer’s arm. Before he could march the man off to his new quarters, the sultan spoke.

“Captain. Guard him carefully. His trainers will come after him soon.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“One last thing. You, bring the cook to me.” The guards holding the battered cook upright dragged him before Ushijima, who regarded him solemnly.

“Your name.”

“M-matsukawa Issei.” The man’s voice was warbled, courtesy of his broken nose.

“Matsukawa. It seems as though your _friend_ would like you spared. However, I trust you understand why I must remove you from the kitchen. I cannot have a would-be assassin poison my food, can I?”

“No, Sire.”

“Then you understand, that I now have a dilemma as to what to do with you. I hear you are an accomplished cook, after all.”

There was a lengthy silence that no-one dared to break, a moment stretched taut and fine as spider’s thread.

“Sire, if I may.” Iwaizumi spoke up, though his eyes remained politely lowered.

“You may speak.”

“Give the cook to your concubine. He enjoys desserts, does he not?”

The sultan hummed, seemingly pleased. “It shall be as you suggest.” He turned to the strawberry blond behind him. “Hanamaki, this one is now yours. Do with him as you see fit.”

The concubine lowered his head differentially, but not before they saw his lips pull up into a smug smirk. “Of course, Your Excellency. I thank you graciously for your fine gift.”

Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa shaking in his grasp, and squeezed his arm more tightly. “Stop struggling. It could be worse,” he hissed. “At least the two of you remain in the palace together.”

“He belongs to me. I will not have a filthy concubine have him!”

“Then negotiate with the concubine. Now shut up and act nice.”

Ushijima finally turned back to them and clapped his hands once. “The rest of you are dismissed as well. Captain, I expect his training to begin tomorrow.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” With that, he turned and hauled Oikawa out of the courtyard, the rest of the guards following behind.

Ushijima waited until everyone had left the courtyard before addressing his personal guards. “Sawamura. Did you see it?”

The man stepped forward, arms folded and eyes contemplative. “Aye. A soul of fire, determined to burn everything in its path.” Daichi paused, uncertain. “Will Iwaizumi be able to handle him?”

Ushijima chuckled. “I have complete faith in his abilities. He is a rock, and will not give in to fire that easily. Suga.”

The silver-haired assassin was at his elbow in a second. “Sire.”

“Watch the dancer at night. Kill him only if his trainers make contact.”

Suga inclined his head. “As you wish.”

The sultan sighed, but the action did not relieve the tense set of his shoulders. “It would be best if we could deport him alive. We do not need another conflict with the Black Sands at this point.”

“You believe they are his trainers, Majesty?”

“I know their leader. He is rumoured to have a half-brother, one as beautiful as he is deadly.” Ushijima pinched the bridge of his nose. “Send Takeda to me as soon as possible. We must push up the dates for the next shipment to Japan. I am not allowing Oikawa Tooru to return to the Black Sands under any circumstances.”

“It will be as you say, Sire.”

x.x.x.x.x

Light hands ran over the expanse of his bruised face, fleeting touches that did not inflict any pain. He grasped those hands gently and pulled them away, squinting to make out his lover’s features.

“Tooru…”

“Shh. I’ll figure out a way. I won’t let him deport us. We have so much more work to do here.”

“How?” It wasn’t that he doubted Oikawa. He doubted himself, and he doubted his new master, who had not deigned to speak to him yet. He doubted the vigilant Captain of the guard, whose eyes missed nothing, whose hands were as deadly as the scimitar at his waist. Matsukawa repressed a shudder.

Oikawa’s hands came up to rest on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. “I’ll find a way. Trust me. Besides,” he said bitterly, “Kuroo won’t leave me here. I’m too valuable.”

A large hand slid to the back of his head, fingers threading through soft locks. A soft kiss was pressed to his collarbone, making him tilt his head back for more. “Don’t talk in that way. You’re a lot more important than you think. Where’s the fiery, stubborn Tooru I know, hmm?”

Oikawa laughed lowly, but allowed himself to be swayed and toppled to the bed. “I’m here. I’m always here.”

“Good. But no more talking. I’m certain Hanamaki's awake, and I want to embarrass him.”

“What happened to him not speaking to you?”

“Oh, he doesn’t need to speak. His face says it all.”

Oikawa laughed, a genuine, jovial chuckle, before he allowed himself to be swept away by his lover’s ministrations.

Outside the screened door, the strawberry blond stood listening with horrified, yet rapt attention.

x.x.x.x.x

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

“You’re not sorry, and neither am I. Let’s go.”

The duo swung out of the window, leaving the slumbering man behind. They danced across the rooftops, hopping from shadow to shadow until they could split and meet again at their hideout.

Kuroo’s fingertips slid across the back of his hand, his cue to split and change course. Oikawa immediately fell off the roof, clinging to the wall as he shimmied his way to the ground, taking the darkened labyrinth of the city at a run. The silver shadow tailing them decided to follow the one on the ground, dropping more silently than he had.

The trail was fresh, and he would follow. He would not return to the palace until he had fulfilled his orders.

Hidden in an alcove far off the route he had laid, Oikawa breathed shallowly, twisting his head for one last glimpse of the palace. He thought of the note, tucked inside Matsukawa’s sleeping fist, and what his face would be like when he read it. He thought about how painful it was to run across hot coals with nothing but soft, unprotected feet. He knew which one was more painful, but he also knew that he would still make the same choice if he were offered the options a second time.

_Issei,_

_Don’t wait for me, and don’t follow me._

_I_ will _save our country, I_ will _save our people, but I must follow my brother to do this._

_My love, it bleeds as I hold it out to you, for it is all I can offer, and all I will have left, when the sultan finds us._

_Never hold back, keep pushing forward._

_Loving best,_

_Tooru_

**Author's Note:**

> It seems that the prompt and the story don't match again, but I hope you liked it anyway!


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